


you knock me out, i fall apart

by kelpies



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, healthy friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6885988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelpies/pseuds/kelpies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's memory works like this:<br/>There is a good memory, and for every good memory there are ten bad ones.</p>
<p>based on this post: http://achlles.tumblr.com/post/144513703414/more-bucky-cant-choose-what-he-remembers</p>
<p>~</p>
            </blockquote>





	you knock me out, i fall apart

Bucky's memory works like this:

There is a good memory. Example: the first time Natasha said his name like she trusted him; the time Steve landed a punch on Eugene Robinson in the eighth grade; the way Steve looked at him after they got bad Chinese food from the takeout near his old home. They're generally snippets, the occasional glimpse of happiness. He finds himself grinning like an idiot whenever one comes to him.

"You look high as balls," Peter told him once during a training exercise that Clint had thought up. "You good to go on, or? Cos you don't look good to go on. I mean- you might be. I dunno. Don't wanna hurt you too bad or anything."

"I'm fine," he'd said gruffly, thinking of the way Steve's mom used to tousle his hair while he helped her with the dishes. "I'm a super-soldier. I've killed people. There's not much you could do to hurt me."

Peter had shrugged, flicking his wrist and darting to the opposite wall. "Cool. Come on, then. Mr Stark says I need to practice evasion."

Bucky's memory works like this:

There is a good memory, and for every good memory there are ten bad ones. Example: the faces of the fifteen terrified students protesting a corrupt politician in Warsaw as he lined them up and shot them; the way the Nigerian mother sheltered her four-month-old baby as her house fell down around her, refusing to scream when Bucky ripped her hair out with brute force to get at the child; Steve's screams as Bucky fell from the train car. On nights like these, he goes for runs. He takes it at a jog, tries to act normal, tries to act human. He finds that anyone else jogging at three in the morning doesn't stare, which makes a change, although one night he's stopped by a college student who asks if he's really the guy that Captain America ripped up Berlin Airport for just to see that Iron Man didn't hurt him. The phrasing gives him pause for thought, but he says yes, and the kid asks for a selfie. On the run back to the base he thinks of the way the boy's face lit up when he saw him, the total lack of fear in his demeanour, and starts to wonder if it's not just Steve who believes in him. He feels helplessly adrift recently, like he's three breaths away from shattering, like if he stops for even a minute his past will catch him up and he'll forget the way that kid said goodbye or the way T'Challa offered him a formal apology on behalf of Wakanda when his name was cleared. He's so caught up in his thoughts that he almost ploughs straight into Sam, jogging the opposite way.

"Sorry," he huffs, backing up and weaving around him. Sam places a hand on his shoulder before he can leave and looks him in the eye.

"Nightmares getting to you, huh." There's no questioning in his voice, no brushing around the fact that Sam knows what's up. Bucky nods and averts his gaze.

"If you can call them nightmares. It's not like I get much sleep."

"You know," Sam says thoughtfully, "You can talk to any of us. Tony's working through his own stuff, sure, and maybe he wouldn't be your first choice, but you can still talk to anyone else. We've all been there."

"You haven't shot a sixteen-year-old's face off because he saw you murdering his uncle," Bucky retorts before he can stop himself. He instantly regrets it, but the floodgates are open. "You haven't sat by while a woman bleeds out, praying for death, but you were told to make it slow. You haven't-"

"No," he agrees. "But I have killed innocent people. We all have. Natasha more than most. It helps to talk it through." Sam's eyes soften around the edges. "Cap's worrying."

He knows all too well that Steve's worrying. He hears him pacing at night outside his room; he can feel how badly he wants to knock on the door. Bucky almost let him in one night, but he couldn't trust himself to kick Steve out, so he sat in bed and waited for him to leave. Sometimes Wanda comes down from the floor above and talks Steve back to bed. He's infinitely grateful to her for these small acts of kindness, and lets her know by leaving her trinkets he'd accumulated over the years from eastern Europe, hoping she'll feel more at home. When Bucky gets back to the base, Wanda's sitting in the kitchen with Nat, nursing a cup of coffee. He doesn't bother to hide himself; they know he's here, and to avoid them would only be seen as rude. Wanda offers him a small smile and pats the chair beside her. 

"We couldn't sleep either," she says as he slumps down beside her. "We're seeing a musical tomorrow evening. Would you like to join us?"

"It's  _Hamilton_ ," Natasha says, passing him a Playbill. He flips through it and shakes his head, handing it back.

"Isn't this sold out for months?" He asks. He knows Natasha too well to be surprised.

"I have helpful friends," she replies, sipping her coffee. "If we like it I can get you a ticket for next time."

He's not sure how long he stays chatting to them, but it's light before he knows it. Outside he can hear the dawn chorus. Wanda lays her hand on top of his, and says, "You need to speak to Steve. He's awake." He can feel her at the edge of his mind, prodding him slightly in the direction of the stairs. He's too weary to care. They've discussed her invasion of his mind before, and this is different - her presence is soothing, and he knows it's deliberate, but he appreciates the effort nonetheless. He trudges up the stairs and before he can keep going, he stops outside Steve's room and knocks the way he used to: a short double knock followed by a scrape and another knock. The door opens before he can even finish and Steve stands before him, wide awake and dressed in grey shorts and a pyjama top. Bucky feels positively scruffy by comparison, but Steve looks thrilled to see him regardless. 

"Still weirds me out that you're taller than me," he says, peering into Steve's room. It's meticulously clean, apart from the unmade bed and a clutter of photographs on his dresser. There's one of Sam with Steve, and another of Wanda and a man Bucky assumes is her brother. Four are of Peggy, and another four are of Bucky. His throat swells before he can help it. 

"You've been avoiding me," Steve says in an attempt at sternness, but he can't keep the fondness from his voice. He perches back on the edge of the bed. "Did Nat send you?"

"Wanda, actually. And yeah, I have, because you remind me how old I am." It hurts him how easy this is, how he doesn't need to keep his guard up, how Steve has never seen him as anything other than amazing in spite of all that he's done.

"I've always done that," Steve says, "you're nearly a year older than me."

"Why did you drop your shield?" Bucky blurts out, and Steve is the picture of surprise. He runs a hand across his head and gestures helplessly.

"I picked up that shield because of you. I put it down for the same reason. I was Captain America because I wanted to avenge you." He laughs bleakly and looks at his palms. "And then you came back and you were _you_ , and suddenly I was allowed to be selfish, and I didn't have to choose to fight. Tony was right when he said I don't deserve the shield. So I chose to walk away." Steve looks up, directly at Bucky, and his gaze feels like redemption, it feels like home, it feels like being a sixteen-year-old in Brooklyn and the war is a decade away. Steve stands, and Bucky pulls him into a hug.

"I missed you," Steve mumbles into Bucky's neck as he wraps his arms around Bucky's torso. "Every day." Bucky clings tighter, nestles his head into the space between Steve's shoulder and neck, and relaxes.

Bucky's memory works like this:

There is a bad memory, but for every bad memory there is a good one. Example: the way Wanda smiles when she talks about her brother, the one in the photo on Steve's dresser; the way her smile widens when she learns that photo is there; the way her and Nat curl up on opposite ends of the sofa, barely touching, not speaking, but reading and enjoying the pleasure of each other's company. T'Challa's hug when he meets Bucky at the airport, promising forgiveness. The first time Sam let him ride shotgun.

Example: Rhodey's face when he sees Bucky, the way he's using artificial legs because of him; Tony's refusal to see him; the fear in Maria Stark's eyes when he kills her and the pleasure he took in doing so. 

Example: Steve's face when Bucky says  _I love you_ ; Steve's face when Bucky says _I'm sorry, that came on strong_ ; Steve's face when he says  _I love you too_. 

Example: falling asleep easily, peacefully, for the first time since America joined the war; the feeling of Steve's chest rising and falling beside him; the sensation that after years of drifting at sea, he is finally, finally home.


End file.
